


Nothing says friendship like rewatching Star Wars

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agent Ward needs to work on his social skills, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Natasha was Ward's mentor, Star Wars References, Team Feels, and he respects the hell outta her, because he's gonna find out, fluff-ish, having friends is nice, nerdy discussions, never gossip about Coulson, that's my headcanon and I'm going with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant Ward is a remarkable agent, but this time around he fails in taking care of hismelf while sick. Thankfully, his team members won't have that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing says friendship like rewatching Star Wars

**Author's Note:**

> A small, silly, funny piece about team bonding. Which will probably go a different route on the show, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun with fics and how we see things. 
> 
> Ward was pretty closed off during the pilot so I wanted to poke at him a bit. Also, I am very, very fond of the idea of Natasha Romanoff being Ward's mentor at some point, becouse boy had to learn his awesome spying skills from someone really good, and earn those good grades from Hill. And I enjoy reading and writing about teamy things and teams doing ordinary stuff and being nice to each other, so there you go. I hope I did okay. 
> 
> Thank yous go to my writing buddy [ashen_key](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key) for sharing her thoughts on the characters and to my amazing friend and great beta [shenshen77](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shenshen77). <3!

"Is he alive?"

"Pretty sure he _is_ -"

"Well, he reeks, he could be dead for all we know -"

"He reeks but he is breathing, although I'm wondering _how_ , considering that smell."

 _That's it_ , Grant thinks. As if headache and fever and blocked sinuses weren't enough, he doesn't need _them_ on top of it too. 

"-go away," he says, sure that his voice comes out stern, and it's only his ears tricking him. 

"Oh wow, Ward. How long have you been here, half dead?" asks Skye in her oh so charming manner. 

"Gwhaaaaay," he says and attempts to wave them away. Someone places a palm on his forehead, which he doesn't want but lacks the power to fight off. 

"Yep, half dead is true. You're burning up," it's Skye again. "Do you have any meds?"

“Mghhhh.”

“I'll take that as a no,” she says. “Drink this. It will help with the fever.”

He drowns the glass of lemon flavored something, too exhausted to properly question what it is she’s giving him and falls back asleep. 

*

Some time later (How much later he isn't sure, because he slept like the dead) he hears Skye speak. 

“Well, no, I don't actually know... mhmmm, yes, of course... no, that's been taken care of. That too. _That_ as well. Yes. No. Oh, he's awake now... yeah, I'll tell him. Okay, gotta go, I'm pretty sure Agent Porcupine didn't have anything decent to eat in the last two days. No, Fitz-Simmons are cooking. A – ha, right, well I hope not. Talk to you later,” she says. 

Grant turns his head or at least tries to. Skye's looking at him like he's a piece of mysterious government equipment, which, frankly, suits him. 

Then he hears a crash. 

“What was that?” 

“Fitz-Simmons, demolishing your kitchen,” she says. “Not that there's much to demolish anyway. How can you live like _this_?”

“Like what?” he asks, annoyed. The pounding in his head is quite enough, thank you. “Why are they in my kitchen?!”

“Like – dude, this looks like a cheap hotel. I'm sure prisons have more personal details than this place,” Skye says. “Also, you could use a lounge chair.” He is about to tell her that he doesn't require much furniture, definitely doesn’t need a chair or decorations, and what he has serves the purpose, but the pompous arrival of Fitz-Simmons stops him. 

With his mouth open. 

“Ah, he's awake,” Fitz says, carrying a pot over to the dining table. 

“What... is that?” Grant asks, suspiciously glancing at the pot and the plates and spoons Simmons is setting around the small table (four, he counts; when was the last time anyway -?)

“Chicken soup,” Simmons grins, all flowers and sunshine and amazing, exciting things, which annoys him on any given day, not just on horrible-cold-days. “Come on, you have to eat. Otherwise you won't be getting better any time soon.”

“She's right, you know,” Skye says. He gets up gingerly, slowly testing his uncooperative legs. The room spins slightly and Skye's hand travels halfway to his arm, but thankfully the support isn't necessary. 

“Are you sure that's edible?” he asks, observing the excitement of the science brats.

“Oh I can eat anything,” Skye grins. “You'll just have to risk it.”

“And shower afterwards, because,” Simmons frowns and waves her hand in front of her nose. 

“Not good for your reputation,” Fitz adds. 

He might be right. 

They take seats around the table and Grant realizes how _small_ it actually is, or maybe, it's because it's filled with plates and bread and cheese spread and there's soup which looks … kinda lovely, but he can't smell it at all. 

*

He has a shower, he changes and returns to the living room. 

There's a steaming cup of tea waiting for him. 

*

Next time he wakes up, he finds croissants and toast and strawberry jam sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Along with the newspaper, a bottle of paracetamol, _and_ a glass of water. Chatter makes him look up – Fitz and Simmons have taken over his dining table with their computers and they're working on something. 

He looks around and sees Skye sitting in a cushion chair, balancing her laptop and her phone -

Wait, a chair? That's not his chair. 

“That's Coulson's _get better_ present,” Fitz supplies. Grant frowns. 

“What? I'm not dying.”

“Well, Skye needed somewhere to sit and work,” Simmons shrugs. “Coulson said you can keep it.”

Grant is sure he would have just the right answer to this, if his head didn't feel like it was filled with cotton wool. He walks to the bathroom and to his horror finds a tiny vase with dried lavender under the mirror. 

*

“Did you take your painkillers?” Simmons asks, and he says, 

“Yes, mom,” before he ducks out to his bedroom.

*

Next time he wakes up (still with fever) he's pretty sure it's the middle of the night. Or at least it's completely dark outside. And he can hear a vigorous ongoing argument happening in the living room.

“No, no, no, you can't _say_ that -”

“What, that I actually _like_ the Star Wars prequels?”

“How can you like the Star Wars prequels?”

“I don't understand how you two can fight over this -”

Grant gets up and walks the short way to his kitchen, finding a full blown argument going on.

“It's an important discussion, besides, your dislike of the prequels doesn't make you a better Star Wars fan than me,” Fitz insists. 

“But you like _Jar Jar Binks_ ,” Simmons says, completely exasperated, like that must be the most offensive thing in the whole world. 

Grant tries to remember who Jar Jar Binks is. 

Okay, Grant thinks. I fell asleep and woke up in the Twilight Zone. Just like in those trashy horror movies he secretly watched as a teen, before Gramsy came to check if he was asleep and (thankfully) turned off the TV. 

“What are you still doing here?” . 

“Looking after you,” Simmons says. 

“Besides, the pizza is almost ready,” Fitz fills in and grabs the oven mitt. 

Huh. 

Grant wonders if he should ask who Jar Jar Binks is, and decides he better not. He glances at Skye and she grins with false exasperation. 

“They're fun when you get used to them,” she says. 

“Riiiight,” he says. “Are you aware that this cohabitation was forced upon me?”

“Some things are for your own good, Ward. God knows when you’d take a shower if we didn’t come to your rescue,” Skye swishes her hair aside and takes a seat at the table. He sits too, realizing that he doesn't remember the last time he sat at his own table more than two times in a row. 

“I was merely saying, the prequels rely heavily on CGI technology -” Simmons starts and the argument between her and Fitz continues. Grant has a distinct feeling this is a recurring topic which they pick up where they left off last time, and it is fascinating, in a really weird way. 

Grant looks up from his pizza at a smirking Skye. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all,” Grant says. 

“I know,” Fitz snaps in the middle of his detailed argument. “We can let Agent Ward decide.”

“I can – what?” Fitz-Simmons are giving him the same kind of look they have for ongoing experiments that might end up with multiple explosions. “Oh, no, no, _no_ , there are reports I have to -”

“But I'm sure Agent Coulson wouldn't approve of you overexerting yourself -” Fitz starts. 

“When you should be resting,” Simmons adds. 

“And what is better than watching a movie?” Fitz concludes. 

He looks at Skye with, what he hopes is a _help-me-out-or-shoot-me-now_ sort of look. 

She, of course, does neither. He should have expected that. 

*

The movies aren't bad at all and somewhere between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith he starts to chuckle at the never ceasing Fitz-Simmons debate, only to deny he did such a thing an hour later. 

It all ends up with the four of them trying to cast fellow agents into the world of Star Wars, which results in an Obi Wan versus Master Yoda debate regarding Coulson. 

(Grant just hopes nobody is recording this, which isn't an unlikely thing. Pranking people who work for you is a very serious thing in SHIELD.

And then they wonder why he prefers working alone.)

*

Next morning he wakes up to a quiet apartment which is _strange_ after three days of never ending chatter, cooking and typing. 

He showers, eats, checks out the news and forecast and then his email (two from Coulson, one official and the other inquiring about his health, several office memos Hill forwarded to him, and one from Romanoff, his rookie days mentor, saying _I sincerely hope Fitz-Simmons cooking is survivable. Do you need to be rescued?_. To which he laughs, but before he starts to type an answer, he somehow wishes to go to the office and fill out that pile of forms which are probably gathering dust on his desk.)

He could ask Skye to bring them? Or Fitz-Simmons?

No, he decides. Not a chance. 

*

The next day he feels well enough to go for a brisk walk, if not a run and tells himself that it's nice to have his place back to himself. 

Yes, it's nice, it's good (he can do reports) and it's... quiet. 

Quiet is good, he thinks as he climbs the stairs back to his door, and no, he has absolutely no desire for Skye's limitless questioning of things, or the way Fitz-Simmons never ever shut up. 

Right?

Right. 

The sound of his key turning inside the lock is somehow so very loud. 

 

Then, all of the sudden, he can smell coffee (he can smell something). He knows he locked his apartment on his way out, and he is about to switch from Grant Ward to Agent Ward when he hears the familiar back and forth in a British and Scottish accent. 

“Oh, you're here,” Skye says as she notices him standing like a guest in front of his own door. “Are you coming in?” she asks like he's some ridiculous person. 

He does come in, biting his grin away, frowning at the vase with flowers (seriously, Simmons?), and grabs a pastry from the plate Fitz hands out to him. 

*

It ends, of course, in a Star Wars debate. Grant even joins this time, determined that Agent Coulson would make a decent Obi Wan Kenobi, considering his ability to withhold the piece of information you really want to know. 

Everyone cheerfully agrees on that assessment.

*

Three days after he's back on active duty, Coulson hands him a stack of forms and just before they're about to head to the Bus, he turns and gives Grant one of those smiles which mean danger. 

“So, Obi Wan?” he says. “That was a good choice. I'm pleased.”

Grant blinks. He really should have known better. 

“Just tell me one thing, Sir,” Grant isn't sure if he's pissed off or embarrassed. “Was it Skye?” 

“No, it was Fitz-Simmons actually. Didn't you know they record all of their Star Wars debates?”

“- Sir?”

“You need to socialize more, Agent Ward,” is all Coulson says. 

Right. 

Well, even though the Bus is bigger than his apartment, he doesn't manage avoiding his teammates as efficiently as before. 

*

Next time he's down with some kind of a bug, they're on the Bus, flying over the Pacific, there are security systems that need to be hacked, Fitz-Simmons are working on a problem of their own, and Grant is analyzing satellite images while his eyes are starting to cross. 

Hours into it, Fitz sets a cup of tea in front of him. Grant's throat feels like it's made of burning sandpaper filled with thorns. He manages a thank you, and part of him could cry in gratitude. Unaware, Fitz smiles and says,

“Star Wars when this is all done?”

“Sure,” Grant says, “Star Wars sounds awesome.”


End file.
